Fortune Cookies
by MLaw
Summary: Illya has a surprising encounter while on a courier assignment in London. WARNING: Mild HET


The cobbled street was empty of passersby, and not well lit as there was but a lone street lamp shining on the corner. Beneath it standing in the halo of light stood a blond man, dressed completely in black and if it hadn't been for his hair color, he would have blended into the shadows like a wraith. The smoke from his Turkish blend cigarette spiralled up into the chilled air around his head until it passed from the light into the darkness.

The sound of footsteps approaching sent up the hairs on the back of the man's neck; he was already on edge waiting there alone for his contact to arrive. By the sounds of the steps and the timing between them, he assumed it was a smaller person, most likely a woman wearing a pair of heels.

He was correct in his assumption as she stepped into view. A petite blond with short hair, yet lithe and looking very much like a model such as Twiggy. It was Agent Pennington, Marta Pennington; Illya Kuryakin recalled meeting her in the London branch some time ago.

She held a cigarette in her hand, and brought it to her lips. "May I have a light?"

He took it from her and lit it with his own.

"Keep a green tree in your heart," Illya whispered, saying the pre-arranged password to her.

"And one day a singing bird will come," she smiled, giving the proper response.

"Mr. Kuryakin?" She asked. "These passwords can be so ridiculous at times….they sound like something you find in a fortune cookie."

"Yes and you are Marta Pennington. Do you have the information for me?" Illya cut to the chase, not wanting to make conversation.

"Not exactly, though I do have it. It's not on paper, it's in my head. I have a photographic memory and..."

"I understand. I possess an eidetic memory myself," he smiled just a little.

There was a sudden and unexpected flash of lightning, followed by a long rumble of thunder, that sounding to Kuryakin like a game of ninepins from the old American legend he'd read about...Rip Van Winkle.

The sky opened up and the rain fell in torrents, saturating them both.

"Come with me," Marta called," I have a flat nearby."

They ran, holding their jackets above their heads as cover, though it did little good. The water pooling on the sidewalk splashed upwards as they ran, soaking their legs.

He followed her up flight of steps to her door and after unlocking it they stepped inside. There was a hallway with peeling paint and a light fixture that flickered off and on, revealing several doors and a long flight of stairs.

"This way," she said a she trotted up, until she reached the second floor and her apartment.

"Come on in, I'll make tea for us and we can dry off. Then I can give you the information. You could memorize it or write it down, which ever you prefer. I'll start a fire in the fireplace and you could hang your clothes there to dry if you wish."

Illya said nothing as he followed her inside; scanning the room quickly for window locations...the bathroom and so on. The place was spartan but had a few touches of femininity, a vase of brightly colored posies on the table, a few personal photographs framed and hung on the wall along with a reproduction print of Renoir's 'Water Lilies.'

Marta put a kettle on the stove, disappeared for a moment and returned with several large fluffy white towels; tossing them to the Russian.

"These should do. Sorry I don't have anything to fit you that isn't rather girlish. If you'll excuse me for a moment." She shrugged as she stepped into her bedroom, but for some reason left the door wide open.

There was a wall mirror opposite the door and Illya saw her in the reflection….her back to him as she pulled her top off and over her head.

Illya was a gentleman, but not enough of one to avoid watching the appealing scene as she stripped.

He smiled, thinking she'd done it on purpose and finally turned away, walking to the bathroom to remove his own soaked clothes and he emerged minutes later wrapped in the ample towels she'd given him.

The kettle was whistling it's shrill call and not waiting for her to emerge; Illya walked to the stove and prepared their mugs of tea. Loose tea, made properly...that was nice for a change. In a way it was good to be back in England, but still New York was his home now and there he tended to use tea bags.

"Tea is ready," he called, and Marta emerged from her bedroom, wrapped in a full length pink robe that clung to her in all the right places.

"Thank you, I'll be with you in a jif; let's take care of those wet clothes of yours."

She had a fire going in no time, and hung his belongings on a drying rack in front of the fireplace and finally she joined her fellow agent who'd seated himself on her sofa.

Marta swallowed a mouthful of tea with satisfaction. "Nothing like a good cuppa to get rid of a damp chill enh ducks?"

"Yes. Where I come from tea is the preferred drink...next to vodka of course." He finally broke a crooked smile.

Another sip of tea and Marta spoke again. "I was surprised you remembered me Mr. Kuryakin, as we'd only met that one brief time in headquarters."

He smiled again. "I always remember a pretty face." Taking a cue from Napoleon's playbook, he figured it couldn't hurt. Though he was on an assignment, Illya suddenly found himself feeling quite randy. He was naked beneath those towels and he was positive she was wearing nothing beneath that bit of pink cloth as well.

"Why Mr. Kuryakin, I'm flattered." She blushed the color of her robe.

"Call me Illya."

"I didn't think you'd even taken notice of me...that was over a year ago."

"Well I do have an eidetic memory as I said…"

That made her laugh, but suddenly she shivered, grabbing her arms and rubbing them "My goodness, I'm still a bit chilly."

"If I may?" Illya moved closer to her, gently rubbing her arms and back with is hands to create a little friction, in the process his face and lips drifted close to hers. He could tell by her demeanor she was willing, that look in her eyes… a telltale sign; it was that breathless moment before two people embraced.

Their lips met in a long, very slow kiss and while doing so, Marta undid the belt to her robe, letting fall away. Illya didn't hesitate on the invitation, letting his hands roamed to her breasts, Marta took hold of the towel at his waist, pulling it free, and revealing him in all his naked glory.

"May I make love to you?" He whispered, holding her close to him as he nibbled on her neck.

"Yes Illya I want that," she answered, the desire obvious in her voice

She initiated a kiss this time, reaching down to him with her hand, but the Russian stopped her.

"Might we go to your bed? It would be much more conducive to lovemaking than your sofa."

She laughed with a softness to her voice, indicating her willingness and in one swift motion, Kuryakin scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He thought at the moment how surprisingly light she was.

He gently lowered Marta to the bed and the Russian knelt over her, taking in her nubile form with his eyes. As she opened herself to him, he lowered himself to her….taking her ever so slowly. No foreplay here, just simple lustful wantonness on both their parts.

They took their time, exploring each other's bodies, locking themselves in their embrace as they heaved; sighing, moaning and thrusting until at last they were spent.

The two agents lay entwined together, wrapped in a tangle of sheets, listening to the rain as it now trickled against the bedroom window; the sound lulling both of them to sleep for a short while.

When they awoke little was said. Marta rose, putting on her robe and made more tea as Illya dressed in his wrinkled but dry clothing. She put out a plate of biscuits on the table and while they munched and finished their tea she recited the information to Kuryakin.

Once the transfer was made, he needed to leave for Paris...with a stop over at headquarters in order to change his clothing and retrieve a suitcase. He thought it best to put the information on a microdot, so a visit to the appropriate Section was in order to accomplish that as well.

It was finally time to leave and Illya lightly kissed his lover on the cheek as he bid goodbye, saying nothing.  
Their lovemaking was a memory now, not to be discussed. None of the awkward, 'will I see you again' nonsense would happen here.

The pretty blonde smiled as he waved to her before he turned to walk down the stairs and out of her life.

It was a chance encounter really. Who would have thought a courier mission would have led to the great Illya Kuryakin making love to her?

Marta Pennington hugged herself; she just loved the spy business...even though the passwords did sound awfully like silly Chinese fortune cookies.

She laughed at at that thought as she closed her apartment door.


End file.
